


Someone to go home to.

by BleedingBishop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Armed Forces AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingBishop/pseuds/BleedingBishop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coincidences don't exist. They simply cannot. Neither can Fate, karma or whatever the rest of the human race believes in to get them through their days.</p>
<p>So a chance meeting, a crazy happenstance and such a low probability of meeting someone that it would be foolish to wish to see them again, and somehow it still isn't a coincidence? </p>
<p>Ofcourse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone to go home to.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eagleofoz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eagleofoz).



He didn’t know how long he had been out, but someone shook him awake nonetheless.

“Excuse me, Private, I dare say you have fallen asleep.” said a gentle voice.  
Greg opened his eyes to take in the sight of an extremely well dressed young man, with a bloody bowler hat and full length umbrella, no less, looking worriedly at him. When the stranger realised that Greg had woken up, a small smile replaced the worried frown. The tube train had stopped, and Greg looked out the window to see his stop.

“DAMN!,” he said, launching himself from the seat and quickly location his case “, My stop!” He said, before sprinting out of the train before the doors closed.  
Had he looked back, he would have seen the man who woke him laugh under his breath, before removing his hat and sitting in the previously occupied space.

.o0’O’0o.

It was a late night, and Gregory James Lestrade, Freshly promoted Sergeant to Her Majesty's Royal Armed Forces, was standing on the tube. Nine years ago, to the day, he would have been happily sitting in his front room, about to tell his wife at the time that he was to quit his job with the police. When she first heard the news, she was thrilled, saying that the job kept them apart for so long. And then he showed her the acceptance letter to Stanford. It all went downhill from there.

Of course, Lestrade wasn’t to know that it was going downhill - that was where his wife came in. And her workmates. And her affairs. And her infidelity habits which Greg had thought were over once they were married. But, apparently not. It was his first time off, a year and a half into his career as a Private, when he found out his wife had moved on.

Oh, and it wasn’t merely that she had been sleeping with another man. If it were, then Greg may have believed that there was a chance for them. No, she was waiting outside her house (it had always been in her name) with an amount of papers and pushed them into his chest, stating that he could go to a hotel tonight, sign them, and bring them back tomorrow and collect his stuff. She then walked back into the house and locked the door with a click. So, Private Greg Lestrade found himself with no home, no wife, and no friends, with three weeks to get his life sorted before he went back.

“Lad, are you alright?”  
Greg opened his eyes and blinked quickly at a worried man, probably in his late seventies, sitting on the seats adjacent to the hanging grips where Greg was stood. He removed the hand that was holding onto the grip and wiped at his eyes, which had become moist without his knowing.

“Guh, yeah, I am fine, thank you, sir.” The man didn’t believe him.

“Are you sure?”

“Uh, Yes, thank you.” Greg attempted to smile, but it came out slightly pained. The man moved up the row of seats, and motioned for him to sit. After a small amount of dithering, he nodded and sat, putting his hat back on his head as not to drop it. The man nodded with a smile, and carried on reading the book in his hands. The gentle shake of the train lulled him into a pleasant doze, and before he knew it, he was asleep.

.o0’O’0o.

A light thump on his shoulder was what woke him. It was just a nudge, a small bump, but nine years being awoken at god knows what time for all manner of dire reasons has trained to wake you immediately. The brim of the hat on his head had fallen over his eyes, so he slowly pushed it up to see what had disturbed him.

The sight of the top of someones head on his shoulder wasn’t what he was expecting, but then again, it was a nice head. Rusted ginger waves, that could be curls were they not tamed by product, and a loose ginger curl on the high forehead proved his theory right. The face was hidden, but the blue tie around the mans neck dripped over Greg’s thigh, and pale hands were pressed together in between the strangers legs.

The sound of the doors opening for the platform made the man stirr, and quickly awake. He blinked a few times before looking up... and directly into Greg’s face.

The saddle of freckles on the stranger's nose showed that he lived up to the stereotype of a ginger, but the ice blue grey eyes seemed to make the skin paler, an ethereal glow on the cheekbones and eyelids. Thin lips gaped slightly, and that was all Greg got to see before the freckled man jumped up with a squeak and bolted from the train.  
Greg stared for a few seconds, before huffing and sitting back against his seat, pulling his hat back over his eyes slightly.

About 10 seconds later, the doors closed, but not before “Pale and Freckled” nervously got back on board. Awkwardly, he sat back down in his previous seat, and coughed, eyes looking at his folded hands on his lap.

“This isn’t my stop.” he mumbled quietly.

Greg burst out laughing. The carriage, which only had two people in it, looked up surprised at the sudden sound so late at night, before shooting disapproving glances at the Sergeant, but Greg couldn’t help himself.  
“Pale and Freckled” looked at him with annoyance for a while, before those lips wobbled and he also dissolved into laughter. It was a nice sound - a little out of practise, but a musical quality surrounded it. Greg pushed his hat up a bit higher, and looked him in the eyes.

“Greg Lestrade - Sergeant and opportunistic pillow.” He held his hand out. “Pale and Freckled” rubbed the back of his neck, going pink, before holding out a pale hand.

“Mycroft Holmes... Captain in Her Majesty's Royal Navy and Apologetic pillow user. I really am sorry, Sergeant Lestrade.”

“Nah, it’s fine - I have been known for comfortable shoulders.” He shrugged, before winking. Mycroft still looked apologetic, but nodded.

“As long as you are sure, Sergeant Lestrade.” he said, releasing a deep breath and turning to face forward again. The next two stops saw the other passengers leave them alone in the carriage.

“I dare say we are the last ones o-”

“I KNEW I RECOGNIZED YOUR FACE!” yelled Greg, turning to Mycroft and pointing. Mycroft jumped - Greg would question later how a Captain could be so skittish- and turned to face him with some alarm.

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked, eyebrows high. Greg smiled brightly.

“I met you years ago - I was the idiot who fell asleep on the train!”

“Oh yes, and the idiot who tore off without thanking me.” The Captain turned to him and gave him a glance that could cut ice. Greg blanched.

“Uh...” Mycroft laughed again.

“Never fear - I was on my way to see my brother, so I was as prepared for rudeness.”

“You have a brother?” Mycroft looked slightly uncomfortable, before nodding.

“Yes, seven years younger.”

“So, he in forces too?”

“Is he in the forces, as well? Is what I believe you were trying to say.” the Captain replied, raising a disapproving eyebrow. Greg rolled his eyes, waving his hand.

“Oh, my apologies you majesty, heaven forbid I forget my manners.” he said dramatically. Greg waited for the bark of anger that usually followed his flippancy, and wasn’t disappointed.

“No, No! Please forgive my ability to talk unlike a plebeian sewer scrubber.” he replied, just as theatrically. A sharp snigger issued from the sergeants mouth, before he covered it with a tanned hand.

“Sorry, sorry, go on, tell me, how I am scrubbing drains?” An answering chuckle made its way from the other. and the two men found themselves laughing in an empty train carriage. The atmosphere lightened slightly.

“Anyway, ‘Is he in the forces, as well?’” asked Greg, his impersonation of Mycroft’s voice terrible.  
The Captain awkwardly shook his head.

“N-no he is not.”

“Oh, so what does he do then?”

“He is currently unemployed.” he said stiffly, a subtle gesture for Lestrade to drop the subject.

“Oh, right, what, he get fired or something?” Mycroft bit his tongue at the question.

“Yes.”

“So, what did he do?”

“If you wouldn't mind, sergeant, I would prefere the subject to go and die a painful death.”

“The subject, or your brother?” he joked, but the way the captain blanched and paled an unhealthy amount made him back track a serious pace.

“Uh, sorry...” he said, awkwardly patting the shoulder of the captain. It was strange that, after the last quarter of an hour talking together, he had only just realised the epaulets on the man. The three lines and the looped singular at the top showed that the man, who looked younger than him, had achieved a lot in his life... something which Greg always had respect for. And of he didn’t know any better, he would say that the Captain was actually leaning into his ministrations on the epaulets.  
Mycroft shook his head and took a heavy breath through his nose.

“Never fear, Sergeant.” He said, facing forward, elongating his neck raising his chin to form a proud and regal posture. Another breath, and the man relaxed again, a small smile on his face.

“The day I first met you, I was unknowingly on my way to find my younger brother OD on his bedroom floor in Montague Street.” Lestrade inadvertently clenched his hand, in turn grabbing the shoulder, which had warmed from the encouraging friction, in a hard grasp. Mycroft didn’t seem to notice, and carried on.

“He is a very special person, my brother. He spent his school years investigating disappearances, until he was eight, when a schoolboy was murdered.”

“Wha...?” Greg gaped, hand falling from the shoulder of his carriage mate. Mycroft chuckled, and smiled at him.

“Oh yes, he did his best to investigate the crime as much as a desperate eight year old could. And I do believe he may have solved it, had out father not interfered and banned him from leaving the house after schooling and activities. My brother has a mind unlike any other - he can see the obvious, and take it to form the inserseptable. It is a beautiful thing to witness, and I have been both fortunate and unlucky enough to be the subject of such knowledge many a time throughout my life. Unfortunately... such a brilliant mind needed, and still needs, constant stimulation from the outside world... or it will stagnate, and he will find the stimulation from other sources...”

“The drugs.” Mycroft nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat that always revealed itself when the subject of his little brother appeared.

“Unfortunately. I had no idea that he was even using narcotics until that day - I had been abroad in service at the time, and only came home because I had very little else to do. As you may surmise, it was hardly the welcome I was expecting.”

“I gather.” he said. Another deep breath, and Greg could practically see the subject being buried.

“Anyway, sergeant, what about you?” Mycroft asked, eyes bright after the subject of his brother had been and gone.

“What about me?” asked Greg, smiling.

“What are you doing during your time away from service?”

“Pft,” The sergeant slouched back onto his seat, folding his arms loosely across his chest and he stared at the seats opposite blankly “, thats the question isn’t it.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Hm?,” Greg looked back up at his carriage partner “, Oh, yeah, sorry - I’ve got no plans.”

“No.. Family? Friends? Illicit affair with a member of Parliament?”

“Wha... What?” the grey haired man spluttered, face splitting into a large grin as he watched a smug little smirk appear on Mycroft’s face.

It suited him.

“Well well well, Mr Holmes - if that is your suggestions for someones free time I can only imagine what you shall be doing during your break.”

The smirk fell as pale cheeks ignited.

“I - well, That is to say, I mean -”

At the sound of Greg stifling giggles, Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him.

“No, no sorry. Ignore me.” Greg said earnestly, his boyish smile still in place.

‘The next stop is St James Park. Please disembark for the District Line.’ Echoed the female voice through the empty carriage.

“This is my stop.” muddled gently with:

“Ah, I get off here.” before the two men smiled at each other.

“Well then, Sergeant Lestrade - “

“Greg. Honestly, just, Greg.”

‘Wow, that came out a bit quick’ Greg thought, but at the indulgent smile the captain gave him, it was all okay.

“Very well, Greg, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You, you aswell, Mycroft.”

The pair shook hands, and with one more smile, Mycroft turned away from the platform and up the stairs to the surface.

Greg watched him leave, and before smothering a jaw cracking yawn, began his own accent to home.


End file.
